


don't read the last page

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mild Suicidal Ideation, Modern AU, Multi, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, No betas we die like Glenn, twitter requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: but I staywhen you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning awayClaude throws a New Year's party with the help of Dimitri and Marianne, and all around him are reminders that it isn't a weakness to be in love.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund/Claude von Riegan, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Marianne von Edmund/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	don't read the last page

**Author's Note:**

  * For [godofmorons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/godofmorons/gifts), [donniedont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/gifts), [WizardOlorquen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardOlorquen/gifts), [themadjaguar57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadjaguar57/gifts), [koalahugs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalahugs/gifts).



> cw for suicidal ideation in the sylvgrid part of the fic - please skip over it if that might trigger you.

"Do you need me to go out and purchase more decorations? I could do that for you, if you need the help."

Dimitri is carrying five bags of Doritos in his arms: three packets of Cool Ranch, one pack of Spicy Sweet Chili, and one pack of Nacho Cheese that he's probably going to eat by himself. Claude laughs, reaching over to relieve Dimitri from some of his chip packets, placing them on the countertop where the open bar will soon be. 

"All good. Marianne's gone out to get the balloons," he says, glancing around the rooftop where the party will soon be held. Dimitri, Marianne and him had decided against throwing a themed party for New Year's, instead electing to just have a simple gathering of friends. This has made decorating considerably easier; all Claude had to do was put up some gold and silver streamers and a banner saying 'Happy New Year!" Still, Dimitri wouldn't be himself if he wasn't worried about the party, and Claude wouldn't be himself if he wasn't doing his best to reassure his boyfriend. 

"Why don't you take a seat? Maybe have a drink before everyone else turns up." 

Dimitri's good eye widens with shock. "Claude, it's only four p.m.! We aren't anywhere near a reasonable hour to drink."

"Eh," Claude shrugs. "It's already 2020 somewhere in the world." 

Dimitri sighs, but pours himself a glass of wine in defeat, muttering something about this being a special occasion. Claude beams at him in triumph. He isn't quite sure how he fell in love with a man who sometimes wears socks with sandals, and who speaks like he's trying to fit a three-page essay into five pages. He has a feeling that Dimitri's sincerity, and his willingness to trudge through Claude's numerous complexes about being known has something to do with it. If anyone had told Claude a few years ago that he'd not only be in a relationship, but in a poly triad with two of his closest friends, he'd have laughed in their face; now he can't imagine life without Dimitri or Marianne. Dimitri walks over towards Claude, handing him a glass.

"I poured one for you as well, just in case. Are you going to be drinking tonight?"

"Maybe," Claude says. He hasn't quite decided yet. There aren't many people who he feels comfortable completely letting down his guard around, and he especially isn't comfortable being drunk in the midst of a huge crowd, but perhaps one or two glasses of wine won't hurt. "I'll drink now, though. Since it's just you and me." 

He takes the glass from Dimitri, clinking them together. 

"Here's to a happy new year, huh?"

Dimitri smiles, taking Claude's free hand and giving it a kiss. 

"And to many, many more ahead of us, my love." 

Shamir enjoys a good party despite all appearances. There's something about loud, bass-boosted music and a few good drinks that helps her truly let her hair down, and after a couple of pina coladas she's ready to tear up the dance floor like no-one is watching. 

Conversely, Catherine tends to need a little more _encouragement_. She shakes her head wildly as Shamir tugs on her hand, gesturing for Catherine to join her on the dance floor. Shamir scowls, clicking her tongue.

"Come on. Everyone's as drunk as we are. Nobody is going to judge you for looking like an idiot."

"I don't dance!" Catherine exclaims, and what little volume control she normally has is thrown out the window because of the alcohol. "Baby, you know this."

"Nonsense," Shamir says. "That's not what you said at Seteth's birthday party. Who was the one dancing on the tables to the Mamma Mia soundtrack?"

Catherine would probably have flushed if she wasn't already bright red. "That was one time--"

"Right," Shamir says, "That's what you said the last time, and then the time before that. Anyway," she says, taking a step away from Catherine, "I'm not going to force you. You can join if you want."

Shamir has barely stepped onto the dance floor when Catherine comes barreling after her, holding a beer bottle in her hand. Shamir lets out a cry of glee as she begins to dance, throwing her hands into the air, and Catherine follows, edging closer towards Shamir as they shake to the beat of the music. Catherine's movements are clumsy where Shamir's are lithe, but Shamir thinks they're perfect. Shamir's mouth quirks into the faintest hint of a smile when Catherine places her arms around her, still holding her beer in one hand. 

"You can put that down, you know."

Catherine guffaws. "And let go of you?"

"You're going to spill it on someone." Shamir raises an eyebrow. 

"Okay, fine," Catherine says. Shamir loves it when Catherine realizes she's right. "Just wait up here. Don't go dancing with some other girl without me--"

Shamir wants to laugh despite herself. How quickly did Catherine down that beer while she wasn't looking? She tries her best to keep her voice level. "We've been married for three years." 

"Thank the goddess," Catherine mutters underneath her breath. Now Shamir definitely lets out a laugh. "Baby, just wait. Can I have a kiss before I go?" 

She puckers up her lips, giving Shamir the sad puppy dog look that she knows Shamir can't resist. Shamir rolls her eyes again, but she leans in, giving Catherine a quick peck.

"Don't hurt yourself out there. I'll be waiting." 

Sylvain has never particularly liked rooftop parties. It isn't that he's afraid of heights; he's always dreamed of going skydiving someday, and he rode every roller coaster he was tall enough to when he visited Six Flags at age eight. But the thought of doing something _foolish_ from this height tends to get tantalizingly strong with every floor he scales, and it's still horrifying to stare directly from the balcony to the tiny cars and people so far away-- to look towards the ground and think about what could have been. He steps away from the railing, and his grip on Ingrid's waist tightens slightly. She gives Sylvain a gentle nudge.

"You doing all right? It isn't like you at all to shirk from a crowd."

Sylvain squeezes out his most charming smile. "I'm doing fine!" he says. Ingrid frowns in response.

"No, you aren't. We can go somewhere quiet if you need to."

There's no point lying to Ingrid. The smile quickly fades from Sylvain's lips, and he tugs at the sleeve of Ingrid's plaid shirt. "Thanks," he mutters, voice low. "I may need to be a little farther from the edge. The view won't be as good, but--"

Now it's Ingrid's turn to give him a reassuring smile as she glances up towards the clear night sky. "I think we'll see the fireworks just fine," she says. Before Sylvain can object, Ingrid takes his hand, leading him as she pushes through through the crowd of people towards the center where the bar is. There are two empty seats by each other, and Ingrid sits down, Sylvain following soon after. He doesn't let go of Ingrid as she speaks. "Need some water?"

Sylvain swallows the lump in his throat. It's embarrassing, to suddenly freeze up in the middle of an event like this, especially when he's cultivated a reputation as being the life of every party. None of his friends are quite certain how straight-laced, prim and proper Ingrid agreed to go out with him, much less Sylvain himself. Truth be told, he still doesn't know what she sees in him. But as they're sitting here together, her callused hand holding his as they don't order anything at his friend's open bar, he's glad that she managed to look past his veneers of charisma to see him for who he really is. Somehow, she wants to be with this pieced-together disaster mess of a human being anyway. This might be the greatest question to the universe that Sylvain has to offer. He leans in closer to Ingrid, nose bumping against hers as the countdown to midnight begins in the distance.

"I've got you. That's enough for now." 

Ingrid rolls her eyes, but she can't stifle the laugh that follows after. Gently, she brushes her lips against Sylvain's in a soft kiss. 

(She doesn't rebuke his flirtations now, when she knows he means it.)

Petra is beautiful. There's no denying that-- Dorothea has always envied her girlfriend, with her clear skin and lush hair and those legs that go on for days, and her ability to look drop-dead gorgeous even in her normal makeupless state. Yet there's something particularly enthralling about how Petra looks when she's decided to doll up. She's swapped her normal athleisure top and leggings for a navy blazer and pants set, and her hair is out of its usual ponytail. A fluttering sensation pounds through Dorothea's chest when Petra cackles at one of Caspar's bad jokes, and downs the rest of her drink. Dorothea leans across the railing, eyes transfixed on Petra. Her girlfriend turns around to face her, frowning.

"Is there something growing on my face? You are staring." 

Dorothea laughs, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on Petra's forehead. "You're beautiful tonight! I just can't stop looking at you." Now that their faces are close to each other, Dorothea can see that Petra is wearing lip gloss, and a smidge of brown eyeshadow that accentuates the color of her eyes. 

Petra smiles back. "You are saying that I am not beautiful every night?" 

Dorothea pulls back, placing her hand on her chest in mock hurt. "Darling, you wound me! Of course I think you're--" She is interrupted by the loud chanting of the crowd, declaring that New Year's is almost upon then: a resounding _ten, nine, eight, seven_. Dorothea raises the champagne glass in her hand, letting out a loud holler, and Petra does the same. Together, they join in the sea of voices, the _six, five, four, three, two_ ; Petra slings her arm around Dorothea's shoulder, pulling her in close, and the _one_ that rings out from Petra's mouth is almost musical. 

And then it begins, the explosion of fireworks in the distance, the red, blue and gold painting the night sky. Petra's eyes meet Dorothea's in a shared glance. Simultaneously, like magnets, the two of them grab at each other, crushing their lips together in a tender, passionate kiss. Petra's hand reaches up to cup Dorothea's face, and she can't help but wonder what she must have done in a past life to be so lucky. She's never quite felt fireworks in the metaphorical sense after kissing anyone, and had supposed that the flying sparks were just a myth from TV shows and story books. But kissing Petra like this with colorful explosions and the sound of cheering behind the two of them? This came pretty close. 

After what feels like too soon, they pull away, and Dorothea takes Petra's hand, grinning with delight. 

"Happy New Year, my dear Petra."

Petra smiles back. "Happy New Year to you too." 

Claude can put up a good show of it when he's hosting, but he's starting to get a little too old and tired to drink through the night. When he notices Marianne begin to fall asleep in the loveseat next to him, her head dropping onto his shoulder with a sudden thud, it's a convenient excuse to dismiss his friends. He leans in close towards his girlfriend and mutters a quick "I'll be back" before weaving into the crowd. It's time to tell them all to get off his rooftop, and he does so in the form of subtle, whispered hints that people should perhaps take the party elsewhere. 

Some of his friends can get a little silly while drunk, but with Dimitri's help he manages to usher them off his property and into a nearby bar. Claude heads back up towards the rooftop as soon as the group is settled, and he inhales a breath of fresh air. He loves throwing a good feast, but he also enjoys the moments of silence after everyone is gone-- it's nice to take off the facade of the gregarious host, and to get to just be Claude for a moment. 

He spots Marianne exactly where he left her, head thrown back, eyes closed and jaw hanging open slightly in majestic sleep. Claude cackles. He considers taking a picture for posterity, but decides against it. Instead, he gives her a gentle shake.

"Marianne? Earth to Marianne. Party's over."

Marianne wakes up with a shudder, eyes blinking open in shock.

"Did... Did I fall asleep?"

Claude laughs, pressing a kiss on the side of her mouth. "You sure did. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Marianne reaches up to rub at her eyes gently. "Where's Dima?"

"Taking care of the afterparty. It's just you and me here, Mari," he says, taking her hand in his and pulling her up from her seat. "Off to dreamland with us!"

Marianne pouts. "But it's so messy up here..."

"We can clean up in the morning."

Marianne lets out a soft, whining sound, but she begins to trudge towards the stairs. Claude can't help but laugh once more. He's glad that she's comfortable enough around him to express how she really feels, even if it's in the form of petulantly not wanting to go to bed. She pushes the door to the stairway open, but then whirls around, gripping Claude's arms.

"Claude... I..."

"Did you have fun?" Claude chimes in. "I know big parties aren't really your scene. It means a lot to me that you showed up at all."

"I had plenty of fun, but I have something else to say," Marianne says, and Claude is once again grateful that she feels like she can be forward with him. "I just wanted to tell you that... This means a lot to me. You mean a lot to--"

A bright, red flush crosses Claude's cheeks, and he's pretty sure that this isn't the alcohol. "Hey! I didn't do anything."

Marianne shakes her head. "Don't you see, Claude? You've done so much. Before I knew you I would never have been brave enough to come to an event like this. And even if I still don't really like big crowds, I just wanted to say that you make me a little more courageous... You mean so much to me." She pauses, and in the dim moonlight Claude can see that she is blushing, too. "Thank you for helping me to cast aside my burdens. I love you, and I'm so glad to be ringing in the new year with you."

For once, Claude is at a loss for words. Despite all appearances, Marianne has always been more forward than him when it came to matters of the heart; he's got his overwhelming fear of emotional intimacy to blame for that. He can't help but wonder if Marianne knows just how much power she has, and how she can so easily render him speechless.

It's an old cliche, but they do say that actions speak louder when words fail. Claude closes the space between them with a soft kiss. 

"I love you too, Marianne. Thank you for spending the new year with me."

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from taylor swift's new year's day, because i'm a cliche. 
> 
> thank you to everyone for requesting ships - sorry i couldn't get to all of them but i hope you guys like these!!
> 
> happy new year's everybody!! may you have a wonderful 2020.


End file.
